


The Mortician's Curse - but not the book.

by SleepingReader



Series: The Terry Pratchett Challenge - 31 days, 400 words a day - [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: College, Death, Gen, Morticians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: From a book called The Mortician's Curse. One of my friends read it and dared me to do better by just reading the description and writing from there.Day 4 of the Terry Pratchett Challenge.





	The Mortician's Curse - but not the book.

Why, lexi asked herself, was it called The Walk Of Shame if you had such a good time beforehand?  
Sure, she was dressed in yesterday's clothes, with a borrowed boxershort (RIP panties, you were great) and smelling of sweat and wine...  
But she had also had a great night, a free dinner and, well, let's just say dessert had been pretty good too.  
The boy had been friendly, willing and oh so desperate. She left him with a kiss and a phone number that lead to the nearest Dominoes Pizza. The weekend was over, and it was time again for college.  
She knew she wouldn't be the worst dressed there, either. Her best friend Clive had hooked up with a 'rocking twink' the previous night. She suspected, however, that those two might meet again.  
Wait, had her date last night been called David or Carl?  
It didn't matter.

The optional course she was talking for extra credit was called 'Death and Dying'. It seemed appropriate, considering her motto: 'live fast die young'. She would like to be prepared when the time came.   
She had already decided how she wanted to go. Driving her car away from two young men fighting over her hand in marriage, in the snow, without shoes and her bra backwards. Maybe 'Death and Dying' would give her suggestions on how to cope.  
Plus, they were allowed to see a mortician at their day to day job, which sounded pretty cool.

So here she was, wearing yesterday’s clothes, together with Clive and five other students, on the doorstep of the funeral home. She thought the appointment was yesterday, but Clive had whatsapped her his usual string of emojis. After blearily solving his hieryoglyphs (the hangover was setting in) she had changed her course, walking in the direction of the funeral home.

The door creaked open. A man stepped out. He was wearing a suit and looking sad.   
‘You’re late…’ The funeral director said. Clive snorted a laugh. The funeral director brightened up, and greeted them all warmly. ‘Now, Arch, our mortician, is a little… eccentric. But he is the best in the business, so don’t let him scare you!’ The funeral director said, and he let them in to the rooms of the mortician…

Who was wildly different from the business-clad funeral directior. The funeral director was a grave (ha ha) man who looked like he could be having a good time if only he wasn’t supposed to be so incredibly sorry for your loss.   
The Mortician, however…  
You know Ollivander from Harry Potter? Imagine his older brother. Murder him, then bring him back to life. Hump. Vacant stare, yellowy skin, grey hair plastered to his face, greasy moustache…Yeah. That’s what he looks like. If you don’t know Ollivander, save to say that Lexi was suddenly all sobered up. 

The funeral director went back downstairs to prepare something for the evening.   
The Mortician shuffled them through the building, the rooms getting colder and colder by the minute. They seemed to be going downward in a sort of long-winding spiral. Even in broad daylight, the lights on the walls didn’t do much.   
They shuffled on.   
Lamps were getting scarce. He barely talked, save from the odd comment every now and again.   
‘These used to be old tunnels from the war. But they are good at keeping the bodies cool…’   
At one point, Lexi looked around to find two of her classmates sneaking away, back to the safe surface. She suddenly noticed that only one classmate remained.   
And Clive looked nervous.   
‘Hey, remember what the director said. Don’t let him scare you.’ 

‘And this is where we push away the veil between life… and death.’ The mortician said in his papery voice, the sort of voice that blows a fly into your mouth when you enter a dusty attic He gestured to a purple curtain, somehow swaying in the cold cellar air.  
It was dark all around them, and a blue light shone from underneath.   
‘This is where we keep the bodies…’ he said. He was holding a tissue up to his nose, as if he had a cold. But he didn’t sniffle.   
Footsteps retreating notified Lexi that Clive had legged it.   
The Mortician didn’t seem to have noticed up till now that only she was left. Goosebumps trickled onto her skin. Or were those spiderwebs? And were the cracks in the floor really just cracks, or was something trying to come up? Did she want to leave, or was there a strange curiosity about her? 

‘You…’ the Mortician turned to her, reaching out a papery hand. ‘What is your name…?’   
‘Lexi,’ Said Lexi, who was trying to remember how to get the fuck out of there. Fucking Clive with his geographic memory had left her. And yet… 

‘Lexxxi…’ The mortician said, drawing out the word. There was something odd about his voice, she thought.   
There was something odd about his face, too. She cocked her head. Put her hand in her pocket.  
‘Ahh….’ The Mortician noted softly. ‘So you have found it. There is always one…’  
‘One who?’ Lexi asked, trying her purse to take out her phone.   
‘Don’t become a mortician, girl. Beware the Morticians Curse…’   
‘And what should that be?’ 

‘The Mortician’s Curse. The curse to be as dramatic as is humanly possible.’ 

‘Fucking knew it.’ Lexi said, blinking on the flashlight on her phone.   
She shone the light on the Mortician’s face, who stood up a little straighter. The handkerchief fell away, bringing with it a fake moustache and a Latex fake nose. Lexi now saw that his grey wig wasn’t a very good one, either. He smiled shyly at her. He couldn’t have been older than her dad. 

He clapped his hands twice, and bright hospital lights came to life. The scary corridor they had been walking through became a perfectly normal corridor, albeit a little cold. The curtains rose, and Lexi saw that she had never been underground in the first place. In fact, she stood on the second floor of a rather handsome building. 

Footsteps neared. The funeral director came towards them.   
‘Well, Arch? Done with your little charade? I’ve had to console the freaking kids with cocoa and funeral cake again. Idiot.’ The funeral director said, slapping Arch lightly on the back of the head.  
‘Yup, all done.’ The mortician (who didn’t deserve the capital letter after all), gestured at Lexi. ‘I like this one. Can I keep her?’  
‘Darling, for the last time. You don’t NEED an INTERN.’  
‘Yes I do.’ He said, turned to Lexi. ‘My husband’s also the investor for this joint’  
Lexi made up her mind.   
‘He actually does need an intern.’ Lexi said to the funeral director. She turned to the Mortician.  
‘You teach me how to prepare a body, I’ll teach you how to do proper make-up.’  
The Mortician looked at his husband, who threw his hands in the air and sighed.   
‘Young lady, I believe we have ourselves a deal.’

**Author's Note:**

> yay


End file.
